


Lost and Found

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Alluded character death, Fix-It, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His spark tells him where to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

                The shock offlines him almost instantly.

                As it is, he shuts down for weeks, thankfully hidden amidst hundreds of rusted and decaying vehicle frames in a barely used junk yard. When he finally powers back online, nothing around him has changed other than the weeds have grown tall enough to tickle his undercarriage.

                He hurts. It’s a deep seated ache that originates within his spark and has spread throughout every strut and inch of plating. His chest feels raw and abraded, his spark spinning in a lopsided fashion; a three-legged stool precariously balancing on one leg.

                Nevertheless, he’s online, and pain in his spark is nothing new. He turns over his engine and pings the Autobot communication channel as he noses out of his impromptu hiding space. He moves barely a foot before his engine rattles and dies off in surprise at the flood of information he receives.

                Prime and the others wreaking havoc on a human building? Megatron resurfacing? Knights of Cybertron? Prime _off planet_?

                His processor reels. Then Bumblebee forwards on a small data packet from Prime. After opening it and reading the few bytes of content, his engine roars to life once more.

                He already knows the general direction, but to have actual coordinates and permission, no… encouragement even… well, that’s just the icing on the cake, as the humans would say.

                Not that he’s feeling particularly chummy with the human species at the moment.

 

\--

 

                 It takes him nearly two full weeks to make it across the country to the west coast.

                 There are still energon detectors in use, and the news reports continue to remain unfavorable to Cybertronians. So he skirts the major cities and takes the backroads, recharging lightly in used car lots and junkyards. It has been at least two years since he’s been able to devote energy to his paint nanites so the murky gray of his plating disguises him well amongst other dusty and forgotten vehicles.

                 He’s low on energon in general, but he’s gone for longer on less, so he absently diverts power away from tertiary and secondary programs to the primaries, stockpiling in case he needs it for a fight. Here in the States, he’s unlikely to run into any more ‘cons; the government has done surprisingly well at eradicating most of them. Too bad that spilled over into the Autobot ranks as well.  

                 When he makes it completely across California, he silently rolls into a lesser used shipping yard at two in the morning. It’s easy enough to hack the manifest of a freighter shipping out at first light, and he inserts himself among the other cargo ready to be loaded. If any of the workers think it odd to be loading a battered looking Stingray onto the ship, none of them say a word.

                 Three weeks later, he drives himself out of a holding lot and onto the streets of Hong Kong.

 

\--

 

                 Getting to the rural province in Prime’s coordinates takes a bit more doing. Once he leaves the city, his alt form gets more attention, and according to the Autobot channel, Galvatron is suspected to still be in the area. The rest of the Autobots and the Yeager family have long since departed for the States, so he won’t have backup if he meets up with the resurrected Decepticon leader. It makes him even more cautious, and he debates about the merits of changing his alt mode. It would require more energy than he would like, but he doesn’t know how long he’ll be stuck on this continent and ultimately, blending in is more important.

                 So he grits his denta and picks out a rugged little four door SUV to emulate. It’s blocky and cream colored and he _hates_ it, but it doesn’t get as many looks as the Corvette did. The change drains him and after several days of soaking up solar energy, he retreats to an abandoned warehouse. Once there, he transforms and takes a day to familiarize himself with the new distribution of weight along his frame. The new kibble is not as bad as he feared, although his new appearance will be sure to garner some snickers from his comrades.

                 Traveling out into the countryside takes another few days. The roads are windy and more than once he’s grateful he scanned a vehicle with a higher clearance than the Stingray. He’s always been happy as a grounder, but this is one of those times he wishes he was flight capable; he could probably have reached his destination in hours.

                 Nevertheless, he does reach it. On a sunny afternoon on the third day, he travels to the end of a cart path, and out of sight of any humans he transforms and walks the rest of the way.

                 The vegetation around the crash site is already beginning to grow back. It’s quiet and the ship appears dead, but his spark sings him another story. The boarding ramp is still lowered and he walks inside, startling several goats who had decided the dark interior made for a cool resting spot.

                 Despite his negative scan, he still proceeds carefully, blaster in one hand and sword fully extended from its sheath in the other. This used to be a bounty hunter’s ship after all; he wouldn’t put it past Lockdown to have booby traps, nasty little surprises awaiting for any mecha who dared trespass. Knowing the others, those traps had probably been set off all ready, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. Regardless of what others say about him, he _does_ know the meaning of the word.

                 Good intentions have nothing on finally detecting his goal, however. The cabinet his spark leads him to is unobtrusive, tucked away in a corner of the flight deck, and he rushes to it as soon as he enters the room. He falls to his knees in front of the cabinet, trembling as he subspaces the blaster. Reaching out, he touches the door with reverent fingers.

                 The control panel is dimly lit, auxiliary power still running the protective systems inside and be figuratively breathes a sigh of relief. Carefully, he unspools a diagnostics cable and inserts it into the port just below the panel. Firewalls firmly in place, he enters the system and moments later, the door cracks open without any problems. Or at least none he can detect, but then again, he possesses more talents than those relevant to the battlefield.  

                 Still wary of surprises, he carefully pulls the door open the rest of the way, ventilations catching as the room lightens when the contents of the cabinet are revealed.

                 There are only five, two per pull out drawer and one lone ball of pulsing blue energy on the very top row. The others are dim and barely flickering, but this one… this one is still bright, tendrils occasionally lashing out at the clear, square container it floats within.

                 He collapses, aft meeting the back of his pedes as he gazes upon the lone spark, his own pulsing urgently. Hands shaking, he reaches out and gently scoops up the top most vessel, quickly pulling it to rest against the plating covering his spark chamber. The captured spark goes wild, flaring and straining against its confines.

                 He lightly pets the box, his digits warming despite the smooth material separating his fingers and the white-hot ball of energy.  

                 “It’s ok. It’s ok, Ratch. I got ya. It’s gonna be ok,” Sideswipe promises.

 

~ End

**Author's Note:**

> So when I first watched AOE, I fully believed Lockdown had just captured Ratchet's spark somehow, and Optimus and co would retrieve it by the end of the movie and All Would Be Well. I should have known better. :(


End file.
